


Physical Evidence

by Lokisgame



Series: To have and to hold [29]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisgame/pseuds/Lokisgame
Summary: He never felt this fragile, never fought so hard to hide it from her.Written for xfficchallenges: Undercover Challenge





	

To hold her feels like his shoulders and spine were molded to the the shape of her arms and curve of her body. Her arms curled around him, locked into place and he could stay like this till the end of his days.  
His mouth found hers, the kiss soft and slow, lips yielding, parting, searching. She sat in his lap, in a dingy motel room, surrounded by pealing wallpaper and worn down furniture. The only light coming from a dim lamp on the bedside table and the tv with volume turned down low. The curve of her hip and silk of her blouse under his palm, her soft breast against his chest, her fingers in his hair. His heightened senses registered everything. She came to him and he loved her for it, because they both needed it, even if he knew she wouldn’t take it any further. They would sleep in separate rooms just like last night, and the night before, and the night before that. Still for now they are here, his bubble protected by snow and distance from the closest human settlement.  
She broke the kiss and, resting in his arms, laid her head on his shoulder, loose limbed and relaxed for the first time since they came here. His palm traveled up and down her thigh, teasing the edge of her skirt, the edge of bare skin.

He always wanted to be able to protect her and wished she wouldn’t hate him for it. It was his way of loving people around him, it stemmed from his childhood, she knew this, but still had to work on accepting it. He didn’t do it because she couldn’t handle things, but because he couldn’t handle things without her.  
How do you love someone who doesn’t need you? In the wee small hours of the morning, on a stakeout equivalent of a graveyard shift, when he missed her most even when she was so close, and God forbid Sinatra played on the radio, he watched her sleep and wondered when and where she fell apart.

Over the years guilt was like a hurricane that kept coming back wreaking havoc over the landscape of his heart. Wooden structures of pretense were swept away, the stone foundations alone left untouched. Trust, friendship, care. He knew nothing of peace, fighting to keep what he had. Forever torn between the rational thought of giving her freedom to set their pace, and instinctive feeling of belonging to no one but her. The need to lay it before her, that one truth that was his to give. Undeniable, verifiable, if she’d just ask him for evidence. He did it once, he wanted to do it again.  
It’s frightening how dependent he’s become. How the feeling of her arms around him set his world right. How a few words could tear his world down. The safety pin of his heart was tied to a tripwire, a living, beating land mine, and they were dancing around it. He never felt this fragile, never fought so hard to hide it from her.

He could go about his day, see her, argue, drive a car, question witnesses, write field reports or sleep or eat. The nearness of her would be enough for him. But once in a while, on a case, he saw the broken lives of those left behind, expected to go on as if they were not the victims themselves.  
He remembered how he once felt, when he still dealt in “if’s” and not “when’s”. The time of her cancer. Back then he still had hope for her and himself. He fought for that hope, for a chance to have time to have her. Free from desperation in the face of seemingly inevitable death. Of the rejection that would follow immediately after the realization of his motives. She would never pity him or take pity on herself. To admit his feelings back then, would be to admit that it could be the end. He steeled himself for the fight instead. The truth would save them, it had to. He felt immortal back then, for her death would be death for the both of them.  
In the end she lived, he lived, they were immortal together. But the memory of the pain remained. The what-if’s of her death filed, as he prayed they would forever remain, unexplained.

Now the time bomb was his brain. The doctors were powerless.  
He kept silent, the truth of his love and the lie of his death canceled each other somewhere half way between his heart and his brain.  
He held her close. He traced the edge of her skin. The miracle of her, enjoy it, while it lasts.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried.
> 
> Parts inspired by the wonderful "Life" series by tatooedlaura


End file.
